


wait for me (to come home)

by hikari (sincerelysame)



Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイパープロジェクション演劇「ハイキュー!!」| Hyper Projection Play "Haikyuu!!" RPF
Genre: Alpha Bokuto Koutarou, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - College/University, Claiming, Claiming Bites, Cock Tease, Domestic Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Knotting, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Omega Akaashi Keiji, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-07 06:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelysame/pseuds/hikari
Summary: "I'll take care of you when I come back home, Keiji. Don't touch yourself. I'll know."Koutarou is late for practice but he will always have time for anything Keiji needs.





	1. Delayed Gratification

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Do not touch yourself. I will take care of you when I come back."
> 
> Me: I will write something meaningful to dedicate to my owl babies.
> 
> Also me: Porn. Do porn.
> 
> Another me: Do sappy porn.

The air is sweet when Koutarou reenters the bedroom.

Though fresh from a morning shower, scrubbed down with a bland medicinal anti-bacterial soap, there is no mistaking the smell of his mate, cool on the tongue and infallibly dizzying. Among other scents in their small apartment such as artificial floral detergent from clean sheets on the bed and coffee steam wafting in from the kitchen, Keiji's presence is unmistakable.

It makes Koutarou feel a bit giddy that something intangible could be so undeniable. An itch creeps under the skin of his fingertips and Koutarou is torn between clawing into his- their- made bed and find remnants of Keiji's warmth still pressed into the surface of the mattress...

... or seeking the real thing out.

Yesterday's clothing still litters the floor and Koutarou begins to sort through them to look for his. He pulls on a pair of sweats from last night and dumps everything into the laundry basket in the corner of the room but his shirt remains unseen.

Though not for long when Koutarou steps out the door into their tiny living room and sees his lovely mate, neck swelling with teeth marks gouged into the skin, with Koutarou's missing dress shirt buttoned up until just below purple-red collarbones.

Koutarou admits he may have been a bit rough on him.

Keiji hums in acknowledgement, leaning against their (theirtheirtheir _theirs_ ) narrow counter with a cup of cheap instant coffee in his hands. Long lashes cast longer shadows on his cheeks, the morning light peeking in through a small ventilation window over the counter, webs of fractures on the glass.

It isn't the first time Koutarou has thought that Keiji deserves a bit more than linoleum flooring and sunshine that trickles in though cracks.

He's barely awake, Koutarou realizes, using the counter more to support his weight than to appear casual. He can tell by the way the laminated top creaks.

It makes Koutarou's pulse stutter in his throat so fast and hard it feels like he's choking.

The scent, sharp like mint but sweet like dark chocolate, cool on the tongue and infallibly dizzying, has intensified, to Koutarou's delight.

The kitchen is only a kitchen in name. It is a section of the apartment with a gas stove they bought from a secondhand depot and some drawers with mismatched handles, an in-built fridge about ten years older than either of them and more reliable than expected, and of course a narrow laminated countertop chipped from outside in that separated their donated couch and the oven that came with the apartment but never really worked apart from just being there.

The space between counter and oven is just as ridiculously cramped. It almost feels irresponsible for Koutarou to force-squeeze his large frame in even if Keiji is quite slim but with the way Keiji looks in this morning's sun, exhausted and half-asleep and breathtakingly beautiful, Koutarou couldn't resist even if he wanted to.

"Morning." Keiji mumbles.

Koutarou nods, taking him in, basking in the moment.

Keiji lifts his head up, expectant, almost indignant.

Koutarou takes the mug from Keiji's hands and places it down before kissing him.

Keiji pulls away first after an eternity that passes by much too quickly. Eternities are too short, in Koutarou's opinion. He has to have at least a few hundred.

(He has always been called unreasonable.)

"Morning." He settles, pressing kisses as apologies to the swollen bite at Keiji's neck.

"Aren't you late for practice?" Keiji sounds more coherent now. There's the giddy feeling again, that kisses work better than caffeine now. Koutarou remembers the Keiji from Fukuroudani who'd spent nights alone with textbooks and highlighters in his one bedroom apartment while his parents traveled from country to country on medical missions and research projects. That Keiji, his Keiji, Akaashi, who's only company was when Koutarou would demand a little more of him to hold on to for a little bit longer in their empty gym after practice.

They've changed since then.

"I've got time." Koutarou says while he tries for another kiss, every bit the desperate highschooler he was back then when all he wanted was for the gorgeous first-year setter with the pretty scowl to look his way just once.

A cat meowing "I'm Sexy And I Know It" plays in his back pocket, where Koutarou forgot his phone was zipped in.

Keiji pulls away. Again.

"It seems like you don't."

Koutarou groans, yanking the zipper behind him open, tugging his phone out.

"What?!"

"Woah, okay, wow. I call to make sure you get your bubble ass to practice on time for once-"

"I was up! And about to get dressed! All my stuff is ready! And my ass is fantastic, don't you dare hate."

"Mmm, it is." Keiji agrees with an impish little curl of the mouth, sliding his fingers from Koutarou's wet hair to aforementioned fantastic ass.

"Bo, please stop thinking with your knot." Kuroo snides, holding back snickers, though Koutarou is abso-fucking-lutely sure Kuroo, the lazy cat he is, is still in bed with Kenma, scenting in their own room with the curtains drawn, nibbling at Kenma's ears and neck by the light of his laptop, probably coding while on Kuroo's lap.

"Yeah, yeah. See you there. Say hi to Kenma. Let the kid finish his programming." Koutarou scoffs, feeling hypocritical for how he clings to Keiji when he begins to edit photos from the studio he works at or clips from collabs with Ennoshita Chikara.

"Coming from you?" Kuroo finally cackles.

"Kuro, you're too loud." He hears Kenma over the laughter and tinny clacking of keystrokes.

"See ya, Brokuroo."

"Yeah, Brokuto Koutabro."

The line cuts off.

"You better get going, then." Keiji says as he tries to move a bit for both of them to get out. Not that there was much space to begin with.

"Yeah, I probably should-" Koutarou admits but leans further into Keiji, as if he had gotten significantly further than a few inches away. Which was still too far for Koutarou anyway.

He glances a look at their sink.

The dishes left in it after last night's dinner were already drying in their metal dish rack. Koutarou, in a fit of admittedly embarrassing eagerness, had dragged his mate into their little love nest as soon as Keiji was warm and full and ready, so wonderously receptive to every touch.

Koutarou has learned how to be patient now. Spikes don't push through every single block. Grilled meat should not be consumed during every meal. And there are times hickeys are actually inappropriate to purposely place in obnoxiously obvious places.

But Keiji has always made him exceptionally impatient when he wanted him to be.

"You've been up for a while?" Koutarou drags his fingers below the hem of the shirt. Though neat and organized enough for both of them, Keiji isn't a morning person in the slightest and avoids the rising sun as much as possible. "Did I wake you?"

"No, you didn't. I just couldn't fall asleep anymore." Keiji murmurs.

Koutarou's fingers slip further below them underneath the shirt Keiji is wearing, sliding fingers and palms over familiar territory. Thighs, hips, stomach, ribs, and back again. Every low hum and soft exhale Keiji makes spurs Koutarou on, makes him feel a little bolder as he dips his fingers between Keiji's thighs.

He's wet.

"Is this why?" Koutarou tries to reign in the smirk on his face but his mouth twitches all the same in anticipation of a taste.

Keiji flashes a smug little grin back. "Yes."

Oh. Okay. Koutarou refuses to admit how much he wants that sweet little smile smothered into their sheets. He pushes deeper into the soft wet heat. It's no wonder now why the apartment smells so intensely sweet.

"You were going to let me leave without telling me this?" Koutarou demands. It's a very Keiji thing to do, yes, hot as fuck but irritating like hell.

Keiji grinds back into his palm like the tease he is a majority of time. "I had planned, too."

"And what?" Koutarou asks into his pretty little mate's ear, palming the omega's ass as a damp spot begins to seep through the fabric of the shirt.

"Perhaps I would have called you during your practice." He can hear the amusement in Keiji's voice.

Koutarou bites back a moan. Keiji would have tortured him like that. He would have told him how soaked he was, that he needed him that very second, that he was alone and wet and he needed him, Koutarou, please?

Or maybe he would have used the toy he knew Keiji had but Koutarou has never seen, an inanimate thing made of firm colored silicone that satisfied his mate when he couldn't- when he wasn't there.

Koutarou snarls. It surprises both of them.

Then he's pulling out of Keiji and pushing off the counter, managing to maneuver both of them out and around their impromptu breakfast nook, backing Keiji up by the arm back into their room. Keiji's smiling, bright and smug and fuck Koutarou just needed ten, fifteen minutes to fuck his brains out before leaving, content in the knowledge that Keiji was satisfied and satiated back in their home, waiting in bed for cuddles like on the rare days he didn't have classes or homework or work or a necessity to be attached to the former Karasuno captain's hip-

The Shooting Stars meme song plays, vibrating against his (very fantastic) ass.

Koutarou is tempted, so very tempted, to let it be. He could deal with Oikawa later, he's been late to practice before, Oikawa would understand having a beautiful brilliant mate he couldn't keep his hands off of-

Somehow they end up propped against the wall beside their bedroom door, Keiji mewling softly into his jaw.

He's lovely like this, flushed with wide dark eyes. Keiji has always been a sight to behold and adore but this, right here, was a favorite of Koutarou's. It was arousing, yes, but also so private and intimate that Koutarou just has to hold him tighter to him, nuzzle his scent glands and drown him in Koutarou's spiced odor.

Keiji's frantic panting slows into deep inhales. His scent mellows into something softer, insistent but not desperate.

Koutarou's phone has not stopped ringing.

* * *

"Wait."

Koutarou turns, in his warm-up clothes with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

Keiji is at the door, still in Koutarou's clothes. Any other alpha would preen. Look at my pretty obedient little omega. But all Koutarou feels is gratitude with how Keiji indulges him. And maybe a bit of deep satisfaction.

Koutarou watches his mate as he walks forward, tugs at the collar of his shirt, and sinks his teeth delicately but firmly into Koutarou's claim mark.

When Keiji pulls back, Koutarou swears he hears him purr.

Koutarou's neck throbs.

"Have a nice day. I will be waiting patiently for your return." Keiji whispers before closing the door, the lock clicking into place.

It takes everything Koutarou has not to bang on it.

* * *

Oikawa Tooru is not an omega.

Oikawa Tooru is also very much mated.

Oikawa Tooru is also very much desperately smitten with former Seijou ace, childhood friend, high school sweetheart, and current official Japan volleyball team sports medical doctor and physiotherapist Iwaizumi Hajime.

Iwaizumi Hajime who is an omega.

Iwaizumi Hajime who is his mate.

Iwaizumi Hajime who Oikawa Tooru would never dare leave. Nor would he allow Iwaizumi-san to leave _him_.

But there is still a miniscule, terrified, spiteful piece of Keiji, a highschool setter who believed his ace would move on to better, greater, grander things he rightfully deserved

... without him...

Keiji's teeth ache.

(Keiji has not realized the way Koutarou's own hold tightens in his hand when the former Karasuno captain was around. The sleepy-eyed, droopy-haired kid was a beta, now very happily married to their loud bald alpha ace.

Keiji was the best man at the wedding that seemed both too early and a long time coming.

They work together often in their industry. Their collaborative films and documentaries are amazing, captivating, moving. There is a lot of talk about "a new generation in Japanese cinema" and "the potential to be legendary".

They are older now. They have changed. But there still remains a miniscule, terrified, selfish piece of Koutarou...)

* * *

Koutarou's orders were clear.

_"I'll take care of you when I come home, Keiji. Don't touch yourself. I'll know."_

Keiji knows Koutarou is no psychic. Koutarou is also not controlling or domineering enough to have secret cameras hidden in their apartment or anything of that sort. But the thought thrills Keiji nonetheless. Not touching himself, he means. Being "good" and playing along with Koutarou's whims.

It would be easy to get some sort of relief from the bubbling warmth in his stomach, reach behind him and push a finger or two in. It doesn't even have to be a toy. Actually, it doesn't even have to be any sort of penetration. Keiji could save that for Koutarou. He could just play with the slick dripping from his ass. He could just tug at his own cock for a cursory climax. Ten hours for a fuck seems far too long to wait.

And yet, it was still intriguing. If he played nice and stayed put, how wet would he be by 5 PM when Koutarou would be back from his practice with the national team?

Koutarou would have showered at their gym's locker room by then. Most of the day's exertions would have been washed away at that point in time. He wouldn't smell like dark roast and Asian spices, not too much, not yet.

But Keiji would be here. At home. Catching up on notes and homework and some actual work for the studio. Smelling like slick and pre-cum and slowly simmering anticipation mingled into his actual scent, filling the entire space with the aroma.

He smiles at that. It's enough for him to turn the old television to its highest volume on a crime drama he likes but hasn't watched in a while as he edits articles for his minor courses. He could call his parents in the UK right now, consulting on an obscure bacteria from the Middle East that has spread too far from its origin. He does miss them.

Bacteria and parents are good mood killers.

Yes, Keiji would definitely be good for Koutarou, just this once.

* * *

 


	2. Satisfaction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried?

Practice went longer than expected.

Koutarou is restless, bouncing on his heels and carding through his hair, still damp from sweat.

Today's session was brutal and ruthless. Every muscle in his body is screaming but it's negligible compared to the rolling boil in his gut.

_"I will be waiting patiently for your return."_

Coach's words are lost in the blood rushing in his ears. He clenches and unclenches his fists. Tries to regulate his breathing, darting his eyes left and right to focus on something, anything. He just wants go home.

"I'm hurt, Kou-chan. You usually aren't that eager to leave my glowing presence."

Koutarou snaps to attention.

He must be ridiculously obvious if the look on Oikawa's face is anything to go by.

* * *

"... oh. I'm no longer surprised, then." Tooru laughs in that mocking, pretentious way he does when trying to diffuse a situation. Bokuto's wide yellow eyes are already unsettling enough. But tonight they aren't bright with enthusiasm and excitement. The irises have been consumed by dilated pupils.

Bokuto literally reeks of impatience, a tart tang to his usual spice mix odor. Kuroo wouldn't help, the ass, sniggering on his way to the showers.

"Is Akaa-chi waiting?" Tooru edges.

Bokuto bristles visibly. Tooru would feel cocky if it weren't for the barely concealed growl Bokuto barely swallows down.

Tooru can relate. If anyone called Iwa-chan by an unnecessarily cute nickname so casually...

But Bokuto is far less selfish than Tooru is.

"Is Akaa-chan in pre-heat?" Tooru whispers in an attempt at tactfulness. Omegas approaching their heats are vulnerable, to say the least. The effects range from merely affectionate to downright delirious. For their mates, there's a compulsion to keep them close and safe, covered in a scent that calms them and wards danger. Tooru should know.

Bokuto twitches but shakes his head.

They go through their cool down stretches in silence. Tooru wonders how Akaashi did this on a regular basis back in highschool.

Bokuto slides down the wall onto the floor.

Tooru takes this as his cue. He sits down across from him.

"I just really gotta get home, Oikawa."

* * *

The apartment smells heavenly.

Koutarou can taste it, cool on the tongue and infallibly dizzying as he catches his breath from the sprint here.

(More like plowed through the streets, but meh.)

He's late, he knows. Later than he's expected to arrive.

He shouldn't have teased Keiji. Keiji is most likely asleep by now, or busy with things that are more important than pacifying Koutarou's libido.

It was a mean game to play. Making Keiji wait. Keiji didn't deserve to wait. Keiji shouldn't have to wait for anything. Keiji deserved to be well-provided for and protected and satisfied. Every desire of his heart, which are so few and so precious, a given.

Keiji deserves a better mate.

Something thick cloys in his throat at the thought, heat in his face and a weight on his ribs.

Koutarou brings a shaky hand to their door and knocks.

"I'm home."

The door is flung open.

(It smells _divine_.)

Keiji is in a different shirt, still Koutarou's but different. His lower lip shines in the low light of the living room, teeth digging into the abused flesh. His eyes, usually such an iridescent green, are opaque now.

He needs to close the door, section off this little part of the world. There are castles and fields for millions of people to have. Koutarou pleads to keep this to himself.

"Bokuto-san."

The jab is intentional. The effect is instantaneous. It irritates a primal part of Koutarou to be called so coldly. It feels like shame.

"Keiji. I'm sorry I'm late."

He just stands there with his bony arms hanging to his side and eyes dark. Koutarou's clothes swallow his slim body. Keiji has always been frail-looking, skinny despite being tall. His delicate features contributed to his fey appearance, as if he were ethereal, otherworldly, not entirely mortal.

"You promised me. Take responsibility." He demands, chin raised.

As if Koutarou would ever deny him anything.

* * *

The way Koutarou kisses him is a revelation.

It's a careful kiss, almost an atonement. Keiji has been neglected earlier and was promised compensation for his patience.

Keiji had been very patient.

He makes a point of telling Koutarou so as he is tugged by the sleeve of his shirt, the door slammed so hard behind him it must have been felt by the apartment a floor above.

"Yes, love. Of course. So good. Thank you. Thank you." Koutarou mumbles gratitude into his skin over and over again.

Koutarou's hands trail along the hem of his shirt but stops, pauses. He's waiting, too, Keiji realizes, for permission. A signal that it is still okay.

It shouldn't be as endearing as it is.

He tucks his head under Koutarou's chin and rubs his nose at the scent glands swelling there. It's as much of an affirmation as it is an invitation.

Keiji expected it to be faster than it's going. Koutarou is already stiff and rutting against his bare thigh and he's been soaked for hours, delectably aroused and increasingly frustrated.

But it isn't. Koutarou won't stop cuddling. He keeps mouthing at Keiji's scent glands and nipping at his ears. A kiss on his temple, another on the curve of his cheek, a few along his protruding collarbones still stained violet-pink, one on his right shoulder still clothed and unexposed.

It's overwhelmingly pleasant. Keiji almost squirms.

He wants to press closer.

He wants something faster and more desperate and more savage.

But he can't bring himself to stop Koutarou from suckling lightly at the patch of skin beneath his left ear.

He won't stop purring.

The haze in the apartment thins, softer and sweeter but no less intense.

Koutarou's wandering fingertips finally linger on his ass, skittering closer to where he needed to be touched.

Keiji wonders in his stupor if Koutarou is doing this on purpose. This slow, gentle affection intermingling with the deep thrusts of his fingers and rough push of his covered cock on his legs. Keiji clutches at Koutarou's varsity jacket. He can't stop shivering, feeling his entrance drip around Koutarou's intrusion. He clenches on his mate's fingers. It's almost embarrassing.

Koutarou reaches with his other hand, lifting one of his thighs up and urging him to wrap the limb over his hips. Keiji follows. It leaves him terribly exposed to fingers and palms that just won't stay still. Not that he wants them to.

It's good. It's really good but he feels miffed regardless. He had been annoyed when Koutarou arrived. He had planned to make his alpha work for it but like most things, Keiji hands everything to Koutarou on a silver platter.

If Koutarou asked to mount him, Keiji wouldn't be able to get on the floor fast enough.

He's that easy apparently.

A sharp bite at his jugular brings him back to the moment. Right. Being fingered.

"You're thinking." Koutarou almost pouts and Keiji will never say how weak he is to it.

"Yes, you should try it some time."

Koutarou's fingers slow to a near stop, only the tip of one of them (yes, there are now several in him) rubbing in a manner that might be soothing if it wasn't literally inside of him.

"Who."

"What?" Keiji blinks, pushing back for more but getting nothing except for those light tapping circles. Fuck. Just move.

He's rewarded with a quick pinch to the meat of his thigh. It shouldn't have made his cock leaked and insides twitch but okay.

"Who're you thinking of?" Koutarou's scent flares in waves. A little bitter like it gets whenever he's distressed or worried.

Who else could Keiji possibly think of in a situation like this? He had been left alone all day and for the better part of the night, expected to "behave" in order to receive recompense that he wasn't getting all for this lovable imbecile of an alpha Keiji couldn't stop being smitten with since he was a freshman.

"You. Of course you."

Before Koutarou could ask any more stupid questions, Keiji tightens his lock around his waist, easy be damned.

"Kou. You promised you'd take care of me the moment you returned. I've been good. I've been good for you. Now if you do not fuck me like you were supposed to before you even left, I am still perfectly capable of doing it myself." Keiji spits in one clear breath.

Only Keiji could look so composed and sound so certain while having four fingers in his ass and pressed against their doorway.

"I also do not require a living, breathing partner to receive a knot." Keiji adds, remembering the pastel yellow knotting dildo hidden in a compartment of his camera bag. Yellow for Koutarou, yes, but his mate doesn't need to know that.

Koutarou's eyes glint.

* * *

No one expects Keiji to be the loud one in bed but he is. Every touch is rewarded with whimpers and begrudging pleas. Koutarou dots his spine with little pokes then begins to skate his nails on the curve of it.

There's so much he wants to do to his mate. A dozen fantasies flit through his mind as another dozen passes by. He could have Keiji in his lap or on his back with his legs pushed up. On all fours just like this or on his knees. Panting. Purring. Mewling.

He wanted all of it.

He hasn't stopped thinking about it all day.

He slides his length against his mate's wet crack, where the syrupy slick from his mate's pussy has dripped into, and moves. He had thought Keiji would have relieved himself in some way throughout the day. But the air in the room says differently. Keiji had waited for him here, slit quivering and damp like he hadn't been touched in weeks, powering through the need that drove Koutarou stupid.

"What do you want, Keiji?"

His length could feel the way Keiji's insides try to latch on the tip of his cock that barely touches the entrance.

He's still wearing Koutarou's clothes but he already looks freshly fucked. Keiji won't stop clenching around nothing and the thick moist sounds echo in the space. It's a beg in itself.

Koutarou takes his cock and allows Keiji a proper feel of the tip. The keening the omega breathes out is pornographic. He presses back in a slip of impatience and for a glorious second Koutarou's cockhead is inside. They both groan.

He could do it like this. A rough, frenzied fuck that would leave them both bruised, scratched, and sore. Keiji's cocklet is already leaking so much that it wouldn't take much for the omega to cum. They could probably fit in another round or five if they were quick enough.

But Koutarou wants to do it slow. He wants to kiss and lap at every inch of his mate, coat his omega in his spiced scent and be covered by sharp mint and sweetened cocoa in return. He wants to press his teeth back into the claim mark on Keiji's throat and present his own mark to the omega.

Maybe knot Keiji if he wanted it, too.

He flips him over in his back and nuzzles his cheek.

"Hey, love."

Keiji looks at him with the wide eyes only omegas possess and the soft smile only Keiji has.

"Sappy." He pecks at Koutarou's nose.

Koutarou doesn't let him get too far away after that. He has to be responsible for his mate after all.

* * *

A cat squeals "I'm Sexy And I Know It" at 5 AM.

Keiji wants to fling it across the room.

"Shh..." Koutarou hushes and, bless him, answers pain-in-the-ass Kuroo's call.

It's a lot of bantering and things about practice, a meme or two, and more talk about his mate's ass.

"I don't want to hear about 'sexual frustration' from you when we could all smell Kenma on you yesterday. You aren't subtle either. Leave me alone, sneaky cat. Yeah, yeah. Later." Koutarou sputters with a blush before tossing his phone into their laundry basket.

Keiji snuggles closer. Everything aches in a way that settles him. A rumbling from deep in his throat resonates in the dawn's quiet.

"Do I have to attend to myself today, Koutarou?" Keiji teases.

Koutarou is on him before he can close his eyes again.

"Don't you dare."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't do it, okay?  
> I will contribute something actually good next time.  
> Thanks for sticking around.

**Author's Note:**

> I know my older sister will eventually find this so I have to apologize to her. I just wanted to write about cute gay boys being absolutely smitten with each other. Also fucking.
> 
> The fucking will come in the next chapter.
> 
> Edit: Okay. The timeline is a little weird. This is too much thought for an Omegaverse! PWP. So, Bokuto is already with the National team along with Oikawa and Kuroo. Akaashi is working with Ennoshita as a pair of upcoming indie film makers who are making waves as this brilliant director and talented cinematographer combo. Akaashi is also pursuing further studies in film.


End file.
